


the voice of guilt

by ncfan



Series: Helcaraxë [9]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Cousins, Gen, Helcaraxë
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever she thought of him, she saw fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the voice of guilt

The bitter wind nipped at Irissë's skin through her thin clothes as she quickly closed the distance between herself and the tent Findaráto and his siblings shared.

"How went the hunting?" Findaráto asked, grimacing in sympathy when Irissë raised her gloved hands and blew on them. She'd not removed her hunting gear; anyone who looked at her could see where she had been.

"Poorly," she muttered. Still standing outside, Irissë looked at the ceiling of her cousins' tent, and resisted the urge to sigh. Even without coming inside, she could see the large rent in the tent canvas, just like Findaráto and Angaráto had told her. On the Ice, everyone felt cold seeping into their bones, but knowing how much colder than her Irissë's cousins must have been when they slept, thanks to that hole in the canvas, Irissë knew that they must have been miserable. "Let's see it, then."

Angaráto was not there. Considering that he and Findaráto had mentioned the hole in their tent to Irissë together, that should have been surprising, but Irissë didn't really have much capacity for surprise. Not of that sort, anyways. Artaresto wasn't there either. There was only Aikanáro, tending the fire, and Artanis, sitting in the far corner of the tent. The gaze of her green eyes flickered briefly to Irissë, but Artanis seemed uninterested in her presence, and she soon began staring down at the ground, seemingly dumb to all else.

Findaráto grabbed one of the edges of the torn bit of canvas and sighed. "The wind just ripped a hole open in the tent. Granted, the canvas was rather thin to start with, but still, I would not have expected it."

Irissë nodded. "Father doesn't have any spare tents. But I'll ask Aunt Lalwen. She might be able to patch it."

She looked around the tent, and couldn't help but notice how bare it was. The tent she shared with Turukáno, Elenwë and Itarillë bore more resemblance to a peasant's hovel than the house they had had in Tirion; everyone's did, to be honest. But while it was also smaller (though not by much) than the one Findaráto and his siblings shared, it was also snugger, warmer. There was more in it. More belongings, more blankets, more cloaks and fur pelts to use as blankets. This tent had a few chests, a few extra cloaks strewn carelessly about the ground, and the fire, and that was it. This tent was depressingly bare.

Findaráto smiled weakly, the fitful twist of his lips making his face seem even more haggard than it already was—the mirror of her own, Irissë had no doubt. "Ah, cousin, I was wondering if I could speak to you—" He looked at his younger siblings "—alone?"

Aikanáro looked at him indignantly, but then he snorted, a bitter smile on his face. "Come on, Artanis. Our elders want to be _alone_."

They left, Aikanáro glaring at his brother, and Artanis acknowledging none of them. Findaráto looked as though he didn't know whether to feel embarrassed at Aikanáro's behavior, or guilty that he was expelling them, that ambivalent expression making him seem all the more haggard.

Herself, Irissë had always felt wary at the words 'I want to speak with you alone.' It usually led into a conversation that probed more deeply into her thoughts than she would like, with no regard for what she would have liked to keep hidden. That Findaráto always knew when to stop before made no difference. Any delving into her thoughts would be unwelcome right now.

However, there was no way to avoid this conversation, not now, not that Irissë could see. And she had always counted Findaráto a friend. If she could cling to anything of the world they had left behind, it was that friendship, and that it was wrong to simply refuse to speak with him.

Findaráto knelt by the fire, taking up the task of stoking the flames. Irissë crouched down beside him, holding her hands close to the fitfully popping fire. "What did you want to speak about, Findaráto?" she asked quietly, wincing as her bow dug into her back.

His golden hair, lank and dull, fell across his face as he dipped his head downwards. "Irissë… Do you remember when we were very small children?"

Irissë frowned at him. "Yes." _Where could he be going with this?_

He smiled, an actual smile this time. "I remember… When we were very small, it was the three of us. You and me and Tyelkormo, we went anywhere we wanted, drove our parents to distraction—"

"Findaráto." Her voice was harsh, stilted. "If you have a point to all of this, come to it." She did not want to talk about Tyelkormo. She had not wanted to talk about him since she saw flames on the water, what seemed like an eternity ago. His name had not passed her lips in eternity.

Unfortunately, Findaráto's point seemed to have everything to do with him. "You and Tyelkormo. You were very close. Were you…"

His tone was suggestive, and his eyes full of sympathy. As Irissë slowly realized exactly what he was implying, she felt a stab of horror in her gut. She shook her head vigorously. "Not like that, Findaráto. How on earth could you think…" How on earth could Findaráto think that about whatever relationship Irissë and Tyelkormo had had? Did he think that if they had ever loved each other as more than cousins, more than friends, there would have been any way…

Would there really have been any way he would have left her here, if there had ever been anything more to their relationship, if Tyelkormo had had any other obligations to her?

A red flush of embarrassment crawled up Findaráto's neck. "Oh."

"What point were you trying to make?" Irissë prompted wearily.

Findaráto didn't meet her gaze, and shrugged. As he had grown to adulthood, Findaráto had managed to cultivate a sense of simple dignity. That dignity was gone. The cold and the snow and the Ice had taken it from him, just as it had taken Nolofinwë's cheer, Itarillë's energy and nearly all of Irissë's vitality. But unlike Nolofinwë, and Itarillë, and Irissë, who tried to maintain an approximation of what they had lost, Findaráto didn't bother. Maybe he was too honest with himself and others to try to deceive himself. Maybe, unlike the rest of them, he just didn't care that he was collapsing in on himself.

"I was just wondering if you were alright," he muttered. "I mean, they left us, and you and Tyelkormo were very close."

Irissë could have mentioned that she could ask him the same thing, as Findaráto was very close to Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, the same as Irissë. She could have said that she, her siblings, Nolofinwë, Lalwen, Findaráto and his siblings were all kin to Fëanáro and his sons, and that they had _all_ been abandoned here. She could have said any manner of defensive things, trying to avoid having to think about it. But she didn't. Instead, she stared into the fire, silent.

She didn't think about Tyelkormo very much. At least, she tried not to. Irissë walked, she hunted, she helped Elenwë tend to Itarillë, did anything she could to occupy her hands and her mind, anything to avoid thinking about the moment when they were abandoned in Araman. And for the most part, it worked. For the most part, she was always cold, always hungry, always tired, always fearful of an eternity spent on the Ice, without end and without relief, but she did not think about Tyelkormo. Not until she remembered why she was doing all of this in the first place.

To answer Findaráto's question, Irissë did remember the days she had spent as a small child, playing with Tyelkormo and Findaráto. They seemed more like a dream now than memory, too warm and bright and happy. Tyelkormo had been her closest friend, and she thought that she could forgive him anything.

But then, Irissë had never expected to find herself crossing the Helcaraxë. These days, whenever she thought of Tyelkormo, she saw fire and blood. Could that be forgiven?

And should she have seen it coming? She was Tyelkormo's friend, once. Even if they had not seen each other in years by the time of the Darkening and the Flight, she had been his friend, once. Should she have seen it coming? Should she have been able to stop this? Irissë would watch Itarillë sleep fitfully in her mother's arms at night, and the very memory of her friendship with the one who had left them all here felt like a burning brand.

She wished that he had taken her with him, and felt guilt at realizing that this fantasy did not involve the rest of her family. She wondered what there was between them that could possibly have made her think that he had any obligation to her that outweighed his obligations to his father and brothers. But her mind inevitably returned to the single, damning thought: He abandoned them all here to their deaths. He abandoned her, left her here to die.

"If we saw them again, do you think you could forgive him?" Findaráto asked softly.

Irissë looked at him heavily, and didn't answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Irissë—Aredhel  
> Findaráto—Finrod  
> Angaráto—Angrod  
> Artaresto—Orodreth  
> Aikanáro—Aegnor  
> Artanis—Galadriel  
> Turukáno—Turgon  
> Itarillë—Idril  
> Tyelkormo—Celegorm  
> Nolofinwë—Fingolfin  
> Curufinwë—Curufin  
> Fëanáro—Fëanor


End file.
